Sonia Faleiro is an excellent journalist based in Mumbai, writing on a range of subjects and for a number of different publications like Tehelka and TimeOut Mumbai. She has the rare - for Indian journalists at least - ability to tackle political or contentious subjects without losing sight of the human stories contained within.
Sonia recently finished a series on the bar girls of Mumbai which was, I think, one of the best things written in any Indian publication this year. One of the pieces was on hijras who used to dance in bars and in the course of that she met the incomparable Lakshmi Tripathi and, as would come as no surprise to anyone who has met Lakshmi, quickly realised that she was a great subject for a story in herself. Writing about Lakshmi may have lead Sonia to the other fascinating character of Bobby Darling and she's written one of the best in-depth pieces on her, treating Bobby's character perhaps even more seriously than Bobby does himself. The pieces came in Tehelka but are available on Sonia blog. Here's the link to the Bobby piece and the piece itself in full, and links to the stories on hijra bar dancers and Lakshmi. They are all very well worth reading: On the hijra bar dancers: http://soniafaleiro.blogspot.com/2005/10/dying-of-evening-stars- iv.html "It is dusk and the prostitutes of Kamatipura are readying to ensnare their prey. Flanking their clearly demarcated territory are claustrophobic lanes of two-storied sweatshops with glassy-eyed men sewing feverishly by the light of kerosene lamps. In one street of lust, 10 women listlessly dance the dandiya. In a corner, two boys are entwined to the rhythm of a Bollywood song. It is Navratri, but Kamatipura remains a nightmare tableau of desperation." On Lakshmi: http://soniafaleiro.blogspot.com/2005/10/dying-of-evening-stars- vi.html " "Ooh La la! So sexy" gasps Laxminarayan Tripathi in her loud nasal twang, as a young man in tight jeans and silver vest catches her eye. "Tissue paper, sweetheart," she confides. "One time use only." Another hijra may have balked at drawing attention to herself in a crowded, upscale Bandra coffee house, but Laxmi, 5'11 in a green salwar kameez and delicate white, beaded jootis, keeps her voice high and leaves the couch often to lope around the room with lanky strides to meet friends, talk to waiters, visit the bathroom. The former dance bar girl and now social activist is a whirlwind. Dramatic, voluble, sensuous, impossible to contain and welcoming of attention." On Bobby Darling: http://soniafaleiro.blogspot.com/2005/11/liberty-equality- fraternity.html Friday, November 25, 2005 Liberty! Equality! Fraternity! As a boy, Pankaj Sharma realised he preferred being a woman. He paid for his `deviance' when his father disowned him. Giving up was not in his script. So he ran away to Mumbai to reinvent himself. Today, he is Bobby Darling, the actor who redefines gender anew in a conservative industry, writes Sonia Faleiro. Bobby Darling totters down the road in transparent block heels embroidered with pink flowers, denim hipsters, and a black lace shirt. One long white finger is crowned with a diamond, on another, a moonstone catches the light. His glossy brown hair switch, 12 o' clock shadow, and a hint of cleavage induced by hormone pills he started taking five months ago, encourage a group of little boys to feign a drunken stagger: "Bobby Darling, oh Bobby Darling!" Another crowd of children, can't get enough of the actor. "Bobby Darling!" they sigh, cuddling him. Bobby Darling appears impervious to the first reaction, and at the second, smiles, tosses his hair, wiggles a manicured finger: "Go wash your hands, first." Bobby Darling with seven film releases in 2005-06, and roles in three TV serials; Kavyanjali, Jassi Jaisi Koi Nahin and Yeh Dil Chahe More was once Pankaj Sharma, a middle-class boy of considerable confusion, who ran away in 1998 from his three-storeyed home in Delhi's Shalimar Bagh because he took the words of a celebrated conundrum to heart. "I read an interview in which Rekha said, `If you're famous, people love you for being famous. They don't care about your personal life,'" recalls Darling. "That got concreted (sic) in my head. I decided to become an actor." Sharma, the second of three children of an English professor and a bank manager, grew up in a conservative environment, given everything but the freedom to be himself. "I was a repressed child. I knew very little, I barely spoke. I only played with girls." In the eighth grade, he realised he preferred male attention to female. He played with lipsticks, saris and bras from his mother's closet. "I was so chikna. Guys would touch my cheeks," he giggles. In the 12th grade, he had his first serious relationship, with a classmate. Sharma's parents frog-marched him to a sexologist, a psychiatrist, the temple. There were tearful exchanges, and his father, whom Sharma describes as possessing a legendary temper, tried to beat what he saw as deviance out of him. "I didn't blame my parents. It's god's fault I'm trapped in the wrong body," he says. Realising he would fail his final exams, Sharma ran away with his boyfriend. "My father had already beaten me so much, I knew he would kill me. How could the son of a university professor fail?" The happy couple travelled to the Far East and Europe, doing odd jobs. "It was full excitement!" Darling says. Two years later, his father called to say his mother was dying of kidney failure, that she'd asked her favourite child to return. Sharma sat by his mother's bedside as she painfully let go. Four days later, his boyfriend broke up with him on the phone, "I have responsibilities towards my family," he mumbled, hanging up. Sharma walked to the bathroom, unscrewed a bottle of Phenyl and poured its contents down his throat. If his father hadn't returned early from work, Bobby Darling wouldn't have been born. He shrugs, "Chot khaya insaan ko zyada akal aati hai, seekh milti hai zindagi se. (A hurt person learns more in life.)" A pause, then he sings in a thin, melodious voice "Jaane kya baat hai, jaane kya baat hai. Neend nahin (What's the matter? Sleep isn't coming...) I would sing this song every night, it made me cry." After his mother's death, Sharma attempted to placate his father by joining Khalsa College. It didn't work. His father informed him, through a lawyer and a newspaper notice, that he was being disowned. Sharma quit college, and with Rs 10,000, took a train to Bombay Central. He spent a fortnight at the station, sleeping on stairs, exchanging stories with strugglers, who had, like him, left behind a life chosen for them, hoping to be resurrected to a life they had dreamt of. He was invited to live with four girls, who worked in a dance bar in Malad. "They told me of a gay guy who earned a lot by dancing, and suggested I try it," he says. "I agreed, and earned Rs 170 on my first night. Mujhe aage jaane ka sahara mil gaya. (It helped me go ahead)." For two years, daily, at 11 am, Sharma, portfolio in hand, would join the snaking queues outside film and TV studios. He wouldn't eat until he returned home at 5 pm. "I would feel sleepy if I ate breakfast," he says nonchalantly. He couldn't eat much even after 5 p.m, because it affected his performance in the bar where he remained from 9.30 pm to 1.30 am. The early years were humiliating. Actor Makarand Deshpande laughed him out of the room. Catcalls and slurs shrouded his every move. But getting disheartened wasn't part of his script. He reinvented himself, became more feminine with darkened lip-liner, lightened hair. "Jab tak dikhoge nahin, bikoge kaise?" he asks. ("If you don't look good, how will you sell?") Gradually, he was offered small roles in Taal, Style, Na Tum Jaano Na Hum, Sohail Khan's debut film Maine Dil Tujko Diya. "That's when I met Salman, and he loved me," says Darling. "I'm a part of his family now. Any problem, I can call them. But as long as I can talk directly to God, I won't. God's given them what they have, so why can't he give it to me? I'm also created by him." As Darling's roles accrue Page 3 and Santosh Sivan's Navrasa the laughter grows mute. But there is no bitterness; he is too astute to let the past tarnish his present. "It's childish to remind people how they treated me before I was famous," he says. "They called me gur (jaggery, Mumbai slang for gay), now its Bobby Darling. Not Bobby. I showed them through work what I'm worth." Bobby was Sharma's pet name. One of his directors, Lawrence D'Souza, suggested Bobby Jaan. Other options: Bobby Sexy, Bobby Chikna, Bobby Hot. He liked Darling he believed he was one. "Once, N. Chandra asked my name, I said, Bobby Darling! He replied, `What a name! I'll take you in my next film. You have a spark!." How did the skinny boy with the painted face achieve success where unaccountable others failed? How did he become, like his hero Rekha, spoken of and sought after? For his foppish behaviour and as a fixture on page 3, Darling has a reputation that little reflects his ingenuity. He earned enough to buy a MHADA apartment for Rs 4.5 lakh while working in a dance bar. "I travel by rickshaw. But in Mumbai you must have your own house." He plans to rent out his two one- bedroom apartments in Oshiwara, and buy himself a large one. The hunger to succeed is palpable. He says it is in memoriam to his mother. At parties, he charms directors, "Sir, when are you asking me for my dates?" He follows up with daily SMSs. "Hi Ramuji, (Ramgopal Varma), I have a desire to work with you, please fulfill my wish... Thanks. Bobby Darling." Bobby Darling likes to sit by the sea. He visits the Siddhivinayak temple, and fasts every Thursday. He speaks to his father every night; they reconciled after Darling became famous. He jokes about wanting a lover, desperately, then sighs he would rather be alone. "My shadow is my best friend," he says. He lives in a small apartment, and cooks khichdi and meetha dahi to eat while watching a DVD, when there isn't a party to attend. He wonders at the confusion in men. Heterosexuals, he says, mock him during the day, but at night, follow his rickshaw, hungrily. But there is no confusion in Bobby Darling, actor, the man who will be a woman. "After two years people will probably tire of me," he says. "I've made plans for that. I'll complete my sex operation, and settle abroad. I'll work as a make up artist and a stylist. I'll do pole dancing and live shows." He pauses, gesticulates from his head to his toes. "Kabhi mujhe lagta hai, main sanyaas leloon. Yeh artificial choga jo maine pehna hai, wig, make-up, kapda, kai baar mein en cheezon se mukti chahti hoon. (I've often felt like renouncing this artificial get-up. I long for freedom from it all.") ------------------------ Yahoo! Groups Sponsor --------------------~--> $15 provides a child with safe, clean water. Your gift can make a difference. http://us.click.yahoo.com/LSmZ0B/icGMAA/E2hLAA/WfTolB/TM --------------------------------------------------------------------~-> Group Site: http://www.gaybombay.info ========================== This message was posted to the gay_bombay Yahoo! Group. Responses to messages (by clicking "Reply") will also be posted on the eGroup and sent to all members. If you'd like to respond privately to the author of any message then please compose and send a new email message to the author's email address. 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